One Summer (25 page)

The third dress, a short, strapless cotton covered with tropical flowers on a dark background, shouted out, “Choose me!”

So she did. “This one.”

Her mother nodded. “A perfect choice. I bought it before Benton informed me I wouldn’t be going to Hawaii with him, so naturally I won’t be able to wear it after what he’s done. But it’s such a cheerful print, and I thought it was perfect for you, so I brought it along.”

“So why didn’t you just show it to me first?” Comprehension hit. “Because you knew I’d have to reject some before I totally wrapped my mind around this.”

“I’m not accusing you of being predictable, but—”

“But I am.”

“Not always.”

Charity knew her mother was referring to Ethan. Whom she so didn’t even want to think about ever again. Let alone tonight.

“I’m going to take a bath.”

“Do you need appropriate underthings?”

“Actually, believe it or not, I’ve got that covered.”

Other women might buy shoes. Or expensive designer bags. Perfume. Or jewelry. Charity’s sole indulgence was lingerie. Although she might be the only person who ever saw the expensive bits of lace and silk, there were times when she thought she was single-handedly keeping Oh So Fancy, Shelter Bay’s lingerie boutique, in business.

“Good. Because anticipation is the key to romance. And I promise the man won’t taste a bite of dinner wondering what you’re wearing beneath that dress.”

Charity was about to insist that this wasn’t about romance. That it was merely sex. Amanda might be the world’s expert at seducing males, but what Charity had in mind was a great deal more basic—she and Gabe both had an itch, so why not scratch it?

As she turned the water on in the tub, tossing in a handful of tropical-scented bath salts Janet and Amie had given her last Christmas, Charity wondered when she’d become such a liar.

What she wanted, with every fiber of her newly awakened being, was for Gabriel St. James to take one look at her and swallow his tongue.

He couldn’t believe it. As he climbed the steps to Charity’s porch, Gabe felt ridiculously like a pimply-faced kid on his way to his first prom. With the head cheerleader.

Biting back his anxiety, he rubbed his jaw, which he’d shaved for the second time today after getting back from the camp. Then took a deep breath meant to calm—it didn’t—and rang the bell.

The door, with its leaded-glass fan insert, opened instantly, making him wonder if perhaps she’d been just as impatient waiting for him. But as he took in the sight of her, that question, along with any possibility of coherent thought, fled his mind as all the blood in his head flowed south.

“Hi.” Her voice was breathless. As if she’d run down the stairs.

“Hi yourself.”

He wondered if she had any idea what a vision she made, with her dark hair in that artful tousle atop her head. He thought he detected a touch of uncharacteristic makeup, but she’d applied it with such a light hand he couldn’t tell if the soft color in her cheeks was due to cosmetics or emotion.

Instead of her usual jeans, she was wearing a strapless sundress that displayed her long curves and showgirl legs to mouthwatering advantage. The black cotton, brightened with a tropical print, hugged her body like a glove and made him wonder what she might be wearing beneath it.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Wearing that dress.”

She skimmed a hand over her hip. “You can thank my mother.” She reached into the front closet and took out a lacy summer cardigan. “It was originally hers.”

“I’ll do that.” She looked like a tropical flower that had been transplanted to the foggy Oregon coast. He toyed with the seashell earring that dangled nearly to that bare, fragrant shoulder he had a sudden urge to nip. “When I bring you back home tomorrow morning.”

Her forehead furrowed. “About that.”

Reminding himself that she was allowed to change her mind, Gabe said, “I guess I was rushing.”

“It’s not that. It’s just that my receptionist reminded me that I have a surgery scheduled for tomorrow. It’s a simple spay and the vet who’s filling in for me offered to do it, but the owner had an unfortunate veterinary experience when she was living in Corvallis, and it’s taken me a while to earn her confidence, and—”

“And you feel responsible.”

“Yes. I do.”

“What time?”

“Nine. But I’ll need to be back to the clinic by at least eight thirty.”

“No problem.” It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, you’re good at your work. And you care. And while I’ll admit to being sidetracked from time to time by the fact that you’re sexy as hell, I also admire your commitment.”

“Well.” She blew out an obviously relieved breath, which had him wondering if the former fiancé perhaps had problems with her not always being available for him. “I still appreciate your understanding.”

As much as he wanted to believe that it was that simple—a dinner out, a roll in the sack, no strings, no ties, no promises, Gabe still wasn’t sure they were on the same page.

“I still have Washington to photograph,” he said as they walked toward the Jeep. “Then I want to finish up in Alaska before the snow drives everyone inside.”

“That’s a good idea. Although I imagine the winter scenery is spectacular, your dog—which I really wish you’d name because I hate talking about him in such an impersonal way—has the kind of fur that clumps up really badly in snow.”

Still not trusting his luck, he asked, “That’s it?”

“You told me your traveling schedule. You also made it very clear that you’re not interesting in long-term relationships. So we’ll keep things simple.”

“Simple.”

“Simple,” she repeated with the patience one might use when talking to a simpleminded kindergartner. Believe me, I’m used to people in my life moving on… .

“There is one more thing,” she tacked on as he opened the door and, with a palm to her elbow, since she was wearing a pair of strappy, barely there sandals, gave her a boost up into the high leather seat.

Ha! He knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“And that would be?” He struggled not to swallow his tongue when the dress pulled even higher on those long smooth thighs as she settled into the leather bucket seat.

“It’s important to me that you understand I don’t have sex with just any hot guy who comes through town.”

“I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Absolutely. And I’m totally with the program. Except I’m not really into regrets. So, when you leave town, and again, I totally understand you plan to, I want it to be without regrets on either one of our parts.”

He was about to assure her that wouldn’t be a problem when a warning tolled in the back of his mind. He ignored it.

“Agreed.”

“Well, then.” She flashed a bright smile, then crossed her legs. “We’d better get to the Sea Mist before we lose our table. This is steamer night. Which is always popular.”

Still thinking there had to be a catch—wasn’t there always?—Gabe closed the door, walked around, climbed into his own seat, and found himself wishing for those days, before his time, and definitely before seat belt laws, when vehicles had bench front seats and girls snuggled up against a guy while he drove. Because as he drank in the scent of Hawaii emanating from her buffed and polished flesh, the console between them seemed to be a gap as wide as the Grand Canyon.

“Where in the hell are you from?” He realized he’d asked the question out loud when she laughed.

“That’s a long story. I’m not sure we can cover it in one night.”

“The camp’s just begun.” He skimmed a palm over her left thigh. “There’ll be other nights.”

She covered his hand with hers.

“I’m counting on it.”

The Sea Mist restaurant harkened back to the town’s seafaring days. The paneled walls were stained a light blue-gray, designed to appear weathered by decades of wind and coastal storms. A mural of the Shelter Bay lighthouse covered one wall. Old black-and-white photos had been hung on the other walls, and over the arched doorway a carved wooden bust—a female figurehead of Rubenesque proportions, salvaged from the prow of some ancient ship—kept a watchful eye over diners.

The wooden tabletops glowed with the patina of years of lemon oil. The lighting was soft, flickering in shadowy corners. In the center of the table, a white candle glowed in a short brass seaman’s lantern.

“Inside or out?” the hostess, clad in a black skirt and starched white shirt, asked.

Gabe looked down at Charity, inviting her to make the decision.

“Out.” The sun set late this time of year, and outside the wall of glass facing the bay, the sapphire water sparkled as if it had been scattered with diamonds.

“The Pacific Northwest may arguably have the most gorgeous summers on the planet,” she said as the young woman led them to an umbrella-topped table on a wooden deck perched over the water. “But I’ve learned that whenever blue skies show up, it’s obligatory to celebrate.” He felt a pang of loss as she slipped on the lacy sweater, covering up those bare shoulders.
Later.

“I’m all for celebration.” After pulling her chair out for her, because it seemed an eternity since he’d kissed her, he bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

The kiss was quick and light, but he’d felt her breath catch beneath his mouth.

“I don’t know about the food here,” he said as he sat down. “But the appetizer was certainly tasty.”

Appealing color drifted into her cheeks again as the hostess tried, with scant success, to smother a laugh as she placed the menus in front of them, rattled off the specials, then left with their drink orders. A glass of sauvignon blanc for Charity, a Sam Adams for Gabe.

“You realize,” Charity said, as she unfolded her napkin onto her lap, “everyone is now looking at us.”

“News flash. Everyone was looking at us the minute you walked into the place in that dress.”

“Only because it’s not what they’re used to seeing me wear.”

“No. It’s because you look tastier than anything on this menu.” He glanced up from the menu in question and grinned. “And I’m the lucky SOB who actually got a sample.”

“The entire town will be talking about that kiss by morning.”

Having grown up in a small town himself, where his parents provided a great deal of grist for the local gossip mill, Gabe suspected she was right.

“Should I apologize?” He didn’t want to cause any damage to her professional reputation. But it wasn’t as if he’d stripped off that dress and taken her on top of the table. Which was what he really wanted to do.

“No.” She smiled her thanks at the waitress who’d delivered their drinks, then, after offering them more time to decide on their choices, discreetly disappeared back into the building. “Actually, since calling off my wedding has been the main topic of gossip about me since I arrived in town, people will undoubtedly enjoy a change of subject.”

Although she’d been living in town long enough to undoubtedly memorize the menu, she began to study it as if she’d be hit with a pop quiz at any moment. Sensing she was avoiding talking any more about her failed marriage, Gabe decided not to press.

They kept the conversation casual. About the weather—which, he’d discovered, could change from minute to minute on the coast—the campers, her work with the shelter.

Unlike many city restaurants he’d been to, where the staff seemed determined to turn over tables in under twenty minutes flat, the pace was leisurely, the mood relaxed.

Much, much later, as he signed the credit card charge, he was certain the meal was one of the best he’d ever eaten. But he couldn’t remember tasting a thing because all his attention had been focused on Charity. And his plan for the rest of the night.

Over the clam chowder, he’d imagined slowly taking those pins from her hair and watching it tumble free over her bare shoulders. During the cedar-plank-smoked salmon he’d imagined the silky feel of her hair draped across his chest. His thighs.

And as he’d watched the white napkin she used to wipe away a bit of whipped cream that topped the fresh marionberries, myriad fantasies of other things he’d like to do with that whipped cream flashed through his mind. Although he might make a living in what his agent insisted on calling “the arts,” Gabe had never thought of himself as a fanciful man.

Until now. As he allowed his fantasies to take flight, pictured himself drawing whipped cream circles on her breasts, then slowly licking them off, the surrounding sounds of conversation, cutlery clinking, and whale-watching boats chugging back into the harbor faded away. He could practically hear her soft, needy sighs. Her throaty moans.

The mental images became more and more vivid and erotic, forcing Gabe to grit his teeth and try to think of something, anything, that would allow him to walk out of the Sea Mist without giving the town an entirely new and definitely triple-X-rated topic to discuss.

Something was wrong. Except for his sister fretting when she’d first gotten off the bus, she’d been her typical chatterbox, upbeat self since arriving at the camp. Even when describing what, to him, didn’t sound like that great a placement. Though, from what she’d said about the previous Salem one, it had to have been an improvement.

She’d been excited right before she’d dashed off to get in line with the other girls. But when she came back with the fairy tattoo on her thin upper arm, she looked about ready to cry.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

She was looking down at the ground, scuffing at fir needles with the toe of her pink sandal.

“Hey.” Johnny crouched down, put his finger beneath her chin, and lifted her miserable gaze to his. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” She was a terrible liar. Probably because she hadn’t had as much practice as he had.